Doctor Who: Shade of Dark
by Time Lord Enthusiast
Summary: The greatest war of all approaches and the Doctor has no choice but to hide.


The Doctor never cared for the darkness. Yet time and time again he always found himself creeping back to it. There was a sort of comfort to it. It was something he knew. Back during those wayward days, the only child left out in the cold, he would lay awake at night staring at the crimson skies above. The darkness would tuck him in and his tears would sing him to sleep.

And here he was bathing in it once again. Seven regenerations in and just as scared as he was all those nights ago. There was a storm coming. A storm that would pierce the eyes of heaven and rip apart all that was, will, and ever could be. Nothing was safe and nothing was sacred. And those long-lost fears crept back into him all at once. There was nowhere he could hide, so he did the next best thing. He faded away. He planted his TARDIS into a pocket universe, void of all life other than his own, sitting in a dying star which sat at the southern most tip of the cosmos. As far away from Gallifrey as could be imagined.

In a different time, in a different context, this would allow him to think up a plan or twelve. Find a way to divert the problems and save the largest amount of lives as possible… But there was no way to fix this. There was only one solution and it was the one he could not accept.

So there the Doctor sat, hiding in the console room for hours or days, months or years. It wasn't like he kept track of how long he remained hidden. After all, what did time matter to a Time Lord? On occasion he would get up to stretch his legs, eat whatever food was in his many fridges, or tinker with some gadget he had abandoned bodies ago. And still all it would lead to was him sitting right back down and utilize his complex mind to either come up with another pointless plan or tremble at the existential horror that was soon to come.

On one particular stroll the Doctor actually stopped to survey his surroundings, something he hadn't bothered to do in quite a long time. The many extravagances the Time Lord had acquired over his lifetimes usually faded into the background when there was no companion around to admire them. The Doctor looked closer at the various bits and pieces he had placed in the console room. In his previous incarnation, he had styled the room like a Victorian parlor. It was easily the most lavish design he had traveled in thus far. Far more theatrical than what came before, which, while containing highly advanced technology on the inside, looked like cheap plastic on the outside. Quality over quantity, his teachers liked to say. When it finally came time to give the room a regeneration of its own the Doctor figured why not have both.

And it was lovely. Massive metal arches surrounded the central column, which had itself been made to look like proper wood cutting. Carpets from across history draped the paneled floors and shelves upon shelves of literature filled any empty wall space. It was the first time in which the Doctor could describe the room as "exotic".

He always loved seeing his companion's reactions to it because it meant more than just the usual bigger on the inside shtick. Izzy would peruse the shelves to see if there was any good Star Trek books that hadn't come out yet in her time. Fitz would enjoy the comfy seats while having a cuppa. Charley enjoyed the candles that decorated the various corners, saying it reminded her of home. And on "nights" when she thought the Doctor and Helen had gone to bed, Liv would stand to one side and take in the atmosphere, not knowing the Doctor had caught her doing it time and again. Different reactions, but that same feeling of wonder.

For the first time since he exiled himself the Doctor realized he was thinking of something other than the impending chaos. And he was smiling too. All those memories flooded back of companions and adventures. Grace, Destrii, C'rizz, Compassion, Molly, Josie, and so many more. Where had it all gone? That answer was simple enough. The fear had swept in and taken it all away. So here the tired Time Lord was, alone in the greatest ship in the universe. With no one to share the joy.

Upon releasing himself from yet another bout of melancholy, the Doctor happened to take a glance at the bookshelves. He set his sights on the oldest of them, containing the earliest tomes he had collected in his travels. Woodsworth, Newton, Adams, Rowling: all of them lives-long loves he always found himself returning to at least once every incarnation. And at the very edge of this most important row sat something much smaller: a notebook. All at once, the Doctor forgot about his other loves and snatched this particular one from the shelves. He carefully slid through the worn-out pages and read them as though he had never done so before. For him, they were the most precious writings of all:

 _Remember what you used to tell me when the nights were at their coldest and it felt as if the dark was all that surrounded us? You would look me straight in the eyes and tell me to make the fear my own. To do what I had to do. To find that courage. And that's what I'm doing every day. I just hope, as you travel among the gods, touching the meek and making them your equal, that you too will keep that courage. You are the Doctor. And I am proud, so very proud, to be the Doctor's granddaughter._

Wiping his tears, the old man placed the notebook back on the shelf. As he turned around he noticed a rather peculiar thing. The room had grown lighter. The shadows once cast were now all but gone, no longer drenched in that same gothic candlelight he had grown so used to seeing. Everything seemed so much clearer and brighter and for just a moment he basked in the light once more.

Not missing another beat, the Doctor ran to the TARDIS console and began setting coordinates. His determination rang true, even if it was just a temporary euphoria. "If I can't be a warrior," he said to himself, "then I can at least help out where I can."

He spun the TARDIS out of the pocket universe, directing it to the nearest souls whose cries could reach him. Yet still his hands trembled. He had no plan nor means to enact change. What forces were coming and how far down the rabbit hole would he go? All he could do would was carry on and hope the day would never come when all he stood for came crashing down.


End file.
